Broken
by Joan Powers
Summary: Lying on the merry-go-round, Jesse struggles to figure things out. Season 5 "Buried"


Broken

By Joan Powers

**A/N:** My husband and I discovered "Breaking Bad" this summer on NetFlix and watched most of the series this summer. When I saw Jesse lying on that merry-go-round in "Buried", I wondered what was going on in his head. This is my attempt to figure it out. I'd love to hear what you think I've gotten right and where I'm off base.

**Rating:** PG-13/K+

**Genre:** Drama

**Timeline:** Season 5 "Buried"

**Summary:** Lying on the merry-go-round, Jesse struggles to figure things out. Season 5 "Buried"

The mechanical squeak of the merry-go-round was barely audible as Jesse lay on his back, slowly spinning about. Starring up into the sky, the dim glow from a broken street light fixture and the sliver of new moon were eventually replaced by wispy clouds and rays of sunshine yet he barely noticed. Like his thoughts, the scenery kept going round and round. It was like being stuck in one of those damned hamster wheels.

What did he have to do to make things right?

Keeping the money felt wrong. Although he'd been part of the train job, he'd done his fair share of the work; the cash only reminded him of that innocent kid who was at the wrong place at the wrong time. A gruesome image permanently burned into his brain. That had been the last straw.

Why had he let Mr. White convince him that this job was low risk? Mike even said the only way to guarantee a clean job was to leave no witnesses. Jesse should've known better. Mr. White most likely did but simply told him what he wanted to hear. He did that, a lot.

Every time Jesse left the business, every time he went for a clean start of any kind, everything turned to crap.

He didn't understand. He'd accepted that he wasn't a good person when he went through rehab. He'd lied, cheated and stolen most of his life. That's how he made it through school and gotten drugs. Granted the scale was significantly smaller but he'd never had trouble sleeping nights. He'd even tried selling meth to people he met at AA meetings – how low was that? Yet all those things had never made him feel as he did now – as if heavy weights were pressing on his chest, suffocating him.

This was stupid. Why did he feel like this? He was just a dumb street punk. He was never going to be anyone important. No one expected anything from him. In the grand scheme of things, his choices, wise or poor, shouldn't matter. The fact that he'd killed people shouldn't be a big deal.

Look at Mike, who was practically a professional hit man. He was always calm and collected, rarely losing his cool. Jesse admired how he didn't let his emotions rule him. While in many ways Mike was a scary guy, at least he was a straight shooter. You knew where you stood with him. Gus and Mr. White? Now that was a different story. Mr. White was so smooth that Jesse had trouble distinguishing his own ideas from those artfully planted by his partner.

Despite Jesse' many failings, he understood the value of loyalty; that you stood by your people. Mike got that too. As they'd worked together, he'd felt Mike had gained some respect for him.

What was wrong with him?

Mike was cool. He'd killed guys and could live with himself. Mr. White could step up to the plate and do what he had to do. Even baby-faced Todd had no qualms about pulling out his pistol and blowing that kid away at the train job.

Was he that weak?

That much of a wuss?

It wasn't as if he hadn't known the risks of the drug business. They'd been there from the moment he and Mr. White had started their business venture. On their first cook in the RV, they'd had a run in with Krazy-8 and his buddy and had to 'take care' of them. That hadn't been easy. But there was a world of difference between dealing with junkie scum or outright insane drug dealers like Tucco, versus innocent victims like Drew Sharpe and Gale.

It shouldn't make a difference. Those kids might have died even if he hadn't been there. If he hadn't done it, someone else would've. As many times as he told himself that, he couldn't buy it.

Mr. White confused him. In the beginning, he was touched by the man's concern for his family and Jesse was more than a little worried about his health. In some ways, he treated him like family – paying for his rehab. But somewhere along the line, things changed. Rather than acting in self-defense, Mr. White started aggressively acting on the offense. The milquetoast chemistry teacher had metamorphosed into one very scary dude.

Could he trust Mr. White?

Since he was so much smarter than Jesse, the young man tended not to question his authority. After recent events, he was starting to wonder.

Was Mr. White using him?

And why did Jesse keep listening to him? Why did he want to believe his partner? He'd already known that barrels of cash wouldn't help him but somehow Mr. White had convinced him that becoming their own bosses would solve all their problems.

Why did he believe him?

He wasn't sure who he trusted him anymore. It scared him and made him sad.

Because he wanted to trust someone.

This whole situation was ridiculous. A few years ago he would've laughed his ass off if someone had told him he'd have over five million dollars and be this miserable. He would've called him an idiot. All that cash? Problems solved! That was living the dream life – get a sweet ride, a cool place to live, have sufficient funds to party round the clock and bring others along for the ride. It was his version of heaven.

So why did it feel like he was trapped in the other place?

Why couldn't he make things better?

Even though he was longer officially in the business, he couldn't seem to escape. Drugs dimmed his pain but didn't remove it. No matter what he did, no matter how many drugs he took or how many people he surrounded himself with, he wasn't comfortable in his own skin.

He had to make it better. What did those AA people say, make amends? That was it, he had to make amends.

But that was bull. Even he knew that he didn't deserve to be forgiven.

Still, he'd tried to give away the money tainted by that boy's blood. He tried to atone for Mike's death by setting up money for his granddaughter Kaley. When Mr. White and Saul had thwarted his efforts, he'd simply thrown the money into the streets of a poor neighborhood.

It didn't change a thing.

Maybe it was him.

Everything he touched turned to crap. Look at poor Jane. Before he met her, she had been clean and interested in her drawings. She'd wanted to go to an art museum and discuss Georgia O'Keefe paintings, for Christ's sake. Her life had been on track. Not only had he brought her back into the world of drugs, she'd died under his watch as he slept beside her. Her father, in his grief, had killed hundreds of people with his error in judgment as an air traffic controller. Although he'd been nowhere near Jane's father, in Jesse' mind it still all came back to him. The burden of guilt set firmly on his shoulders, he felt as if he'd personally pushed those buttons. If not for him, all those lives could've been saved.

He longed to shift or lessen the burden. But that was bull. As sweet as it sounded, there was no such thing as forgiveness. His parents had shown him that. There were actions and consequences. That was all.

His AA councilor had been full of it. Jesse struggled with the burden of guilt for the deaths he'd caused. If he'd hurt his own child as that man had, he would never be able to live with himself. Never.

There was also Andrea's little brother, who had been gunned down by Gus' street crew. If Jesse hadn't drawn attention to him, the poor kid might have been alive today. Hell, if Jesse hadn't sent his buddy, Combo, into that turf in the first place to peddle meth, it would never have been an issue.

As much as he cared for Andrea and her son Brock, he couldn't bring himself to go near them and taint their lives again. Brock's poisoning scare was enough to convince him that he would only bring them trouble.

Besides, he didn't deserve their love. He was a bad person.

He'd shot Gale in cold blood. A man who'd never done anything to him. Who didn't deserve such a fate.

The thought sent the equivalent of an electric shock through his body. His lips quivered.

He was a bad person. An awful, horrible person.

If he was bad, Mr. White was even worse. Jesse had been horrified when he'd learned of the prison assassinations that Mr. White had orchestrated, occurring within two minutes of one another. When his former partner had shown up at his house to deliver his share of the money, Jesse had been afraid that he might be next on the list.

What should he do?

If he stayed away from Mr. White, would he leave him alone?

Would it make any difference?

Wasn't the damage already done?

No matter what he did, he couldn't fix things. The haze of drugs dulled the pain but didn't make it go away. Lately they even enhanced his nightmares. His emotions were fluctuating off the charts with extreme anger, depression and fear. He could no longer submerge himself in partying. It just didn't work.

Regardless of the choices he made regarding work, things went wrong. Working security with Mike had indirectly taken him to that cartel massacre in Mexico. Being his own boss hadn't been the magical fix Mr. White had promised and had only led to more innocent deaths. Even just hanging around his house smoking pot or snorting whatever didn't help.

He couldn't sleep. He could barely eat. No place felt safe.

What was he going to do?

Who was he kidding? His life was beyond fixing. It was hopeless. Besides, he didn't deserve any better.

He was broken.

**THE END**


End file.
